


nothing important happened today

by dickovny



Category: Homicide: Life on the Street, The X-Files
Genre: 'pusher' and 'kitsunegari', Gen, based on txf episodes 3x17 and 5x8, frank/tim if you squint, this is literally just a birthday present for my husband, this is way more of a homicide piece than an x files piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickovny/pseuds/dickovny
Summary: The detectives of Baltimore's homicide unit grapple with the aftermath of a supernatural encounter.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	nothing important happened today

**Author's Note:**

> The character Robert Modell appears in The X-Files, episodes 3.17 ( _Pusher_ ) and 5x8 ( _Kitsunegari_ ).

Nothing important happened today.

Brodie absentmindedly toys with the camera resting next to his thigh. He’s wound too tightly, none of his skin fits right. There’s a thread loose in the gauze around his fist, and his hand itches like hell. 

Something important almost happened today. But it didn’t, god willing. He glances at the detectives around him for the fifteenth or sixteenth time in the past hour, reassuring himself of their well-being. They are banged-up and bruised and more than a little shell-shocked, but they’re all alive, which is more than enough for him.

So it bears repeating: nothing important happened today. 

A pair of voices come around the corner, laughing boisterously - a sound so out of place that it catches Brodie’s attention immediately.

“Hey Mikey, hol’ up man,” Lewis puts an arm in front of Kellerman’s chest, stopping him short, coffee sloshing from his styrofoam cup onto his sleeve. Before he can bite out whatever creative profanity curls on the tip of his tongue, Lewis gestures at the collection of drawn faces in the squadroom. “Why all y’all just _ sitting  _ here like this? Look like you seen a ghost or something.” 

No one answers. They speak to each other occasionally in hushed tones amid the dull roar of camera flashes, pencils on paper, the shuffling of feet. The two newcomers take a few moments of silent observation, unpacking the chaos around them.

The squad room is a disaster, packed to the gills with uniforms and crime scene techs dusting for prints and combing for shreds of physical evidence. A file cabinet lies overturned, papers spilled onto the floor. Someone has scrawled ‘OSU’ in the middle of the whiteboard in an unsteady hand. Kay leans against the wall by her desk, her sunken eyes glued to a bullet hole in the back of her chair.   
  
Today was not a very good day.

* * *

**CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #3   
SERGEANT HOWARD, KAY **

“I almost got Frank killed.”

Unlike the others, Howard chooses not to sit. Instead, she stands with an elbow against the window, chin in one hand, the other buried in her pocket. All the while she shifts her feet, swaying and shuffling back and forth. Brodie can’t recall if he’s ever seen her totally still in all the time that he’s known her.

“I thought that it was my responsibility - that I had to  _ do  _ something. Ever since I passed the Sergeant's exam … I don’t know how I fit any more. I’m not one of them _ ,  _ but I’m not above ‘em either. All I wanted to do was prove to myself that I  _ could  _ do it, and I ended up just isolating myself instead. I miss Beau. Shit, he wouldn’t have treated me any different."

“What happened after you reached for your gun?” Mulder prods gently. She tugs a hand through her curls, a defensive mechanism that Brodie’s seen a thousand times - and that still makes his heart flutter. Her hair enchants him - it has a mind of its own, this crimson entity that swarms around her. So goddamn  _ alive. _

“It happened so fast. I shifted my blazer open, put my hand on my weapon, and Frank immediately went to point the gun at himself. Tim lunged into him, throwing him back into the filing cabinet. The whole thing fell over with both of ‘em on it - I guess that’s how he trashed his shoulder. Modell and the girl ran. Frank’s weapon went off - shot my chair.”

She paws at her eyes, red-rimmed and haunted. A bone-deep exhaustion is written across her face, fragile and  _ raw.  _

“I keep thinking …. I keep thinking if I had been sitting in that chair. I  _ shoulda _ been sitting in that chair - but I got up, for just a minute. How many times am I gonna  _ see  _ death reachin’ for me? If Beau hadn’t opened up that door for me - it could’ve been him shot like I was or I coulda got hit different - I don’t know. Everything’s so up to chance. A million little things. All of these  _ turning  _ points.”

“But who knows, right?” She laughs to herself. 

It’s small and mean and entirely unconvincing.

* * *

“Anybody feel like cluing us in?” Kellerman ventures, picking his way through the crowd to Munch’s desk. He waves a hand in front of Munch’s glasses, receiving nothing in response. Turning his head, he follows Munch’s line of sight across the room into Giardello’s office. 

Brodie can’t help but look that way as well - even though he knows what he’s going to see through the open blinds. The same man has been talking to the Lieutenant for ages now - a sturdy, somber man in a suit, frowning at him from behind his glasses. Giardello spots his audience through the window and scowls, crossing over to the blinds and snapping them shut. 

“Who the  _ hell _ is that? Hello?” Kellerman attempts again, voice heavy with frustration. “Earth to John?”

“I think he’s some kinda G-Man,” Brodie blurts, finally breaking the silence. Looking down at his feet, dangling from the desk he’s perched on, he notices that one of his shoelaces has come undone. It’s a moment of utter surreality - like looking at a blown out airbag after an accident, all covered in shards of glass. “He’s been here all afternoon - since one at least. After that guy showed up for that girl. What an idiot - guy made me break my camera lens. Like that was gonna damage the recording I already took. Sucker.” 

He flexes his bandaged hand experimentally - it still stings, but not nearly as bad as it did. Russert was so patient with him, her hands steady when she helped to pull the glass from between his knuckles. The blood didn’t phase her at all. She must be a  _ really  _ good mom. 

* * *

**CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #4   
DETECTIVE [FMR CAPTAIN] RUSSERT, MEGAN **

Brodie hasn’t given a lot of thought to where she came from, how much Russert has seen and done. But the aura of total calm that surrounds her now, as she cooly stirs her coffee, legs crossed beneath her long, pressed skirt - it’s a departure from the other detectives who sat in her place today. 

She’s never made them  _ feel  _ like she’s slumming it, here in the squadroom with the rabble, but maybe she is. He wonders if he even knows her at all. If any of them do.

“Today made me really think about quitting this job,” she says wistfully, a small grin tugging at the sides of her mouth. “What am I even  _ doing  _ here? Bolander and Howard and Beau almost  _ died  _ serving a warrant, all because of a simple clerical error.” She stumbles awkwardly over Beau’s name and he makes a note of it, resolving to ask somebody about it later.

“Bayliss is performing a routine interrogation and this woman’s brother turns up and does … all of this. You know, that bullet in Kay’s chair could’ve landed in any one of us. You never grow accustomed to it - this constant background hum of violence, day in and day out. Crossetti throws himself into the bay and we all pretend that we can’t possibly understand why. Like we don’t think about it once in a while ” 

“But today was different?” Mulder ventures. 

“There’s only so much I can handle. So much I can justify to myself under the guise of nobility. Of fighting the good fight. And that was before, when there were concrete rules and limits. How do  _ you  _ do it? How do you deal with the uncertainty of these things, every day? How do you  _ live  _ when the ground under your feet can’t be quantified or guaranteed?”

“There are still things you  _ can  _ accept as absolute,” Scully says, idly toying with the cross at her neck and glancing sidelong at her partner. “In my experience, the only way to survive is to find these truths and hold on to them as tightly as you can.”   


* * *

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Kellerman sighs, settling into the chair in front of him. “What  _ guy  _ would this be then?”

“The guy that tried to make Pembleton shoot Bayliss in the head,” he offers, shrugging.

“Woah - woah, Brodie. Man, back the _hell_ up. Tried to make Frank do _what_ now?” Lewis barks out, frantically looking around the room and taking inventory, searching for any implied casualties. “Why didn’t anybody call us? Is everybody alright?”

“As fine as can be expected, under the circumstances of course,” Russert answers, gliding from the breakroom to Munch’s desk, coffees in hand. Munch takes his with a polite nod. There’s a rust colored smear on her skirt, and his stomach turns with the realization that it’s  _ his  _ blood. She must’ve wiped her hands on it. He hopes it isn’t ruined or anything. Maybe he can offer to pay for her dry-cleaning. It’s the only crack in the facade, looking so composed otherwise as she rolls her neck in a stretch, taking a long drink before continuing. “Tim’s shoulder was dislocated and he’s understandably shaken. Frank is - well. Frank.”

With an open palm she gestures at Pembleton’s desk. Right on cue, there’s an explosion of raised voices.

“Those are  _ my  _ cigarettes and I will not have you  _ take  _ them from me,” Pembleton hisses, lunging at an unfortunate rookie trying to put Frank’s cigarettes in an evidence bag, stopped only by Bayliss’s hand on his shoulder. The technician mumbles something about DNA traces, holding a gloved hand out in surrender. 

“Frank.  _ Frank.  _ Just let the kid do his job, okay? Frank?” Bayliss pleads, doing his usual best to diffuse the situation. Of the two, he looks significantly worse for wear - hair mussed, right arm in a sling. Although, he looks pretty good for a man who just had a gun barrel between his eyes. If it had been  _ him?  _ Brodie would need to go home for a new pair of shorts.

“Just give him the cigarettes.” It’s like watching a man trying to placate a spooked horse. “You can have mine. I’ve got a fresh pack in my desk.”

“Why do you even  _ have  _ cigarettes? I thought you quit.” Shoulders slumped in acquiescence, Pembleton grumbles as he follows him over to his desk. Bayliss mutters something about  _ just in case _ , rummaging haphazardly through the top drawer with his one available hand. He finally finds the pack and tosses it over casually. Pembleton’s eyes narrow. 

“Tim, these are  _ my brand.  _ Why do you have a pack of my cigarettes? Why do you have a pack of  _ my cigarettes  _ in  _ your  _ desk ‘just in case’?”   


* * *

**CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #2   
DETECTIVE BAYLISS, TIM **

“I knew he wouldn’t shoot me. I wasn’t afraid - honestly. Not even for a minute.” Bayliss sits languidly in his chair, free arm draped across the table. A perfect negative of his partner - he exists as a raw nerve, in constant connection with the world around him. It must be a special kind of agony.

“How could you  _ possibly  _ know that?” Scully interjects. A look passes between her and Mulder that Brodie can’t  _ begin _ to understand.

“It’s Frank,” Bayliss replies with a tilt of his head and a gentle laugh, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I trust Frank with my life.”

“Would you mind telling us about your arm?” Mulder gestures at the sling. “Unfortunately, the recording doesn’t go that far.”

“Oh. That,” he pauses for a minute, toying with a loose thread near his elbow. “Well - he had the gun on me. You saw that on the tape. Modell and his sister, Miss Bowman, started to leave - told Frank if anyone tries to stop them to put the gun back under his chin and … y’know. He walked over to the whiteboard, wrote, uh - ‘osa’?”

“Osu,” Mulder explains. “It’s Japanese for  _ push.  _ Modell uses it as a pseudonym.”

“Ah.  _ Osu,”  _ he repeats back, rolling the word around on his tongue. “Anyway. Modell was halfway out when he saw Brodie’s camera - he stopped to tell him to break it, and I guess Kay - Sergeant Howard - thought that was enough of a slip in his concentration for her to reach for her gun. But Frank saw her and - he started to point the gun at himself. So I just - I jumped at him. I didn’t think, I just  _ did. _ ”

“You said that you  _ knew  _ he wouldn’t shoot you. Why act then? Why not just wait for Modell to leave, if you thought Detective Pembleton  _ wasn’t _ under his control?” It’s a question free of judgement - Mulder simply wants to know why _.  _ He wants to quantify the workings of this Modell character, to establish rules and limits for the phenomena.

“I knew he wouldn’t shoot  _ me.  _ But Frank - you don’t know him the way I do. The man has  _ zero  _ self-preservation. He’s gonna grind himself to dust one day if nobody stops him. He carries the whole world on his shoulders every day because he feels like he has to. He has all the strength in the world for other people - but for himself? No, I watched his arm start to tremble and I saw that flicker of weakness - so I reacted. I did for him what I know he would do for me.”

There’s a far-off sadness in Bayliss’s eyes, and Brodie is left again to feel like a voyeur. Today is fucking  _ heavy,  _ man.

“Frank just … somebody has to save the guy. Might as well be me.”   


* * *

“What do you mean  _ tried  _ to make him shoot Bayliss?” Lewis asks, returning to the matter at hand. His tone dips lower, conspiratorial, as he leans against the desk that Brodie sits on. “Like he threatened him or something?” 

“No, it was like … a comic book sorta thing. This guy can just tell you to do stuff and you gotta do it.” He knows he isn’t saying this right, that if anyone else was telling them what happened they’d understand. The look of incredulity passing between Lewis and Kellerman is making him want to scream. “It sounds crazy but it was  _ real _ . He made me punch my camera! That shit  _ hurt. _ ”

“I gotta say. That was real smart of you.” Howard says, a fragile grin ghosting her lips. She still isn’t looking at any of them, running her hand idly along the top of her chair, fingertips barely connected with the object. But at least she’s finally saying  _ something _ , and that’s enough to get everyone’s attention. “You could’ve trashed the film - but I heard what he said and he wasn’t specific enough. He just told you to break the camera. And you  _ did.  _ Just not the way he wanted you to.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t anything really - I mean, thanks - but I just wanted to keep the tape more than anything.” A hot blush creeps across his cheeks, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He didn’t think anybody noticed. But Kay did, and she thought it was  _ smart.  _ “How lucky was it to catch this sort of thing? This is the sort of shit I got into film for anyway.” 

“Hey! Wait a minute,” Munch jerks up, finally joining the conversation. Brodie is thankful for the interruption - Kay makes him so nervous that his mouth just runs and runs.

“I  _ know  _ that guy.” Munch points at two newcomers jostling their way to Giardello’s office, a lanky man trailed by a scowling red-haired woman. The big man with the glasses opens the door for them and nods, ushering them inside. Their body language suggests to Brodie that he’s their boss, and that he’s actually kinda relieved to see them. That way that Giardello  _ acts  _ like he’s annoyed with Pembleton but isn’t annoyed at all. “I arrested him once. He’s a  _ fed _ .”

* * *

**CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #5   
DETECTIVE MUNCH, JONATHAN **

"I know you,” Munch sneers. His arms sit folded across his chest, leaning back in a gesture of triumph. But the remark has no effect on Mulder - so he turns to Scully instead. “You know that? I  _ know  _ him.”

“Excuse you?” The question is leveled at Munch, but Scully glares at her partner when she asks it, an eyebrow quirked in annoyance.

“We’ve been previously acquainted, Mr. Mulder and I. Or did he not tell you about his last sojourn to our lovely Charm City? Our SWAT team has seen more of his physique than you have, I’m sure.”

“You know, detective,” Mulder sighs, rubbing at his chin. “I think we’re done here. We’ve got all we need from you, thanks.”   


* * *

“Well, yeah, John. They’re  _ all _ feds,” Howard snaps, abruptly wheeling around to face him. “Did the windbreakers on half the crime scene techs not tip you off? With their big yellow letters that read  _ FBI _ ?” She sarcastically draws each letter out, trying to bait Munch into a fight. It works, but only a little.

“Yes, I can read, thank you. The Baltimore public school system is not  _ as  _ defunct as one is so often led to believe.” He places a hand in the air, halting Howard from continuing. “What I was trying to articulate, before you so  _ rudely  _ interrupted, is that he is  _ not  _ a normal Fed. He’s a weird one, a real spook. I did some digging. The guy’s a laughing stock - an absolute joke. Works in some basement office, only covering the fringe stuff that other agents won’t touch.”

“You mean cases like this?” Russert chides with a gesture at the wreckage strewn through the squadroom.

“Touche, detective,” Munch raises an eyebrow in concession. “In fact, the only stranger thing I’ve ever seen was the case we crossed paths on. Really out there. Alleged government conspiracy, defense department using hallucinogens on civilians. When we found him he was in some warehouse, naked as the day he was born, high out of his gourd and mumbling about extraterrestrials.” 

“What like … like Area 51 and all that?” Lewis ventures. The question is surprisingly sincere.

“What do  _ you  _ know about Area 51?” Kellerman teases. 

“Listen, you try spending an afternoon with Crosetti and  _ not  _ knowing all about Area 51,” he huffs. “Abductions. Aliens building the pyramids. Roswell. He used to talk about all that shit.”

None of this is anything Brodie is too familiar with, just buzzwords he associates with late night television and tabloid journalism. He doesn’t really see what little green men have to do with pyramids anyway.

“Roswell isn’t that interesting, once you’ve seen the files. Kind of bland if you ask me,” Russert mumbles into her coffee, and Munch’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Anyway, I have to go call home, make sure the nanny can stay with Caroline for a few extra hours. I don’t think we’re going to be leaving  _ any  _ time soon.” 

“Hang on, you’ve  _ seen  _ them? The actual files? Not just the pages and pages of redactions?” She nods with a sly grin before turning to head towards a phone, and Brodie can see that it’s driving Munch insane. “I filed a FOIA request for that! All they sent me was a book full of black bars. Megan  _ come back here  _ \- “ 

He stands up so fast his chair spins, clumsily chasing after her as she walks away. They only make it a few feet before the Lieutenant’s door opens, the room going quiet as Giardello crosses to the whiteboard. The feds’ boss follows him, leaving the two agents lurking by the office door.

“Listen up, please. If I could have everyone’s attention,” Giardello booms. “I know that today has been trying and  _ long _ , but if I don’t get a whole lot of cooperation the day will only get longer. Do I make myself clear?” He pauses, searching the faces around the room for the slightest hint of disobedience.

“I will  _ not  _ have today turn into some kind of interdepartmental pissing contest. This is a federal suspect. This is a federal case.” Giardello’s gaze hones in on Pembleton. “You are going to provide as much assistance in recounting today’s events as you possibly can. And when these agents are  _ satisfied  _ with that, we can all go home. Those of us  _ without _ four open cases, Kellerman.”

The room turns to look at Kellerman, who offers a polite wave and shit eating grin in response.

“I am now going to pass you over to Assistant Director Skinner, and you are going to  _ listen to him  _ like you would listen to me.” 

It’s hard for Brodie to focus on exactly  _ what  _ he’s saying, most of it being law enforcement jargon that he isn’t entirely familiar with. The general gist is that this man, Robert Patrick Modell, is someone they’ve tangoed with before. He’s dangerous and he’s mean, and despite how technical Skinner’s phrasing is, it definitely sounds like he’s kind of  _ magic _ too. It’s easier to listen once Giardello takes over - Brodie has learned to speak G. Fluency is a matter of life and death around here.

“Now,  _ each _ of you will be interviewed in turn by these two agents behind me. Because it is  _ their case  _ and I expect you to treat them as you would hope to be treated. You will be called into the box one by one.” There is a collective groan as the team calculates just  _ how much longer  _ that would take than interviewing them in pairs. “Obviously, you understand the need to hear your stories independently in such … extraordinary circumstances. Brodie, Sergeant Howard - go get that tape prepped for Director Skinner. Then I need a camera in the box. Everyone else wait here.”   


* * *

**CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #6   
LIEUTENANT GIARDELLO, ALPHONSE **

“Frank is like … a son to me,” Giardello breathes, looking down at his massive hands as if he’s never seen them before. He examines each line and muscular twitch with reverence and awe. “I’ve never admitted that - not out loud. I look at them ... all of my detectives, my team, as my responsibility. You understand?”

A thumbnail between his teeth, Mulder nods.

“But Frank is different. I push him  _ so hard _ . If anything happened to him today …. “ His voice trails off, his hands hanging in the air in a gesture of implication.

“Is it your belief that Detective Pembleton was in real, mortal danger today?” Everything Scully says has a clinical affectation to it, a precision that interests Brodie. It’s a stark contrast to the way his coworkers speak - there’s an emotional distance he isn’t used to.

“I can only protect them from so much. But  _ evil _ ? Santo  _ dio,  _ I am only a man.”

* * *

The recording is perfect, other than a few minor drawbacks. It’s a bit out of focus, and most of the action happens to the far side of the frame - he had been smart enough to not actually hold the camera and draw attention to the fact that he was filming. He simply left it on the desk and started to record. In doing so he managed to get the entire incident from start to finish. Well, almost to the finish. Fight up to the moment Modell made him smash the lens.

“You did good kid,” Howard reassures him, leaning over his shoulder to watch the film. It would be a nice moment if Director Skinner wasn’t just  _ looming  _ in the corner freaking him out. “Real good.” 

And if the footage wasn’t something so goddamn upsetting.

It starts with Pembleton walking across the room, the barrel of his gun shoved under his jaw by his own hand. Modell follows several steps behind him at a casual pace. They approach the door to the box, and Modell reaches around Pembleton to open it. A moment passes before they move away from the door, then Bayliss exits with the female suspect.  He instructs Bayliss to kneel, at which point Pembleton places the gun barrel against his forehead. Modell and the woman begin to walk away, when on his way out he notices the camera. The last shot is of Brodie’s fist. 

“She’s right,” Skinner adds. “Nice work.”

Giardello never would’ve complimented him like that. Maybe he can transfer. Does the bureau need camera men?

He doesn’t have time to think about it - Giardello needs him to set up in the box to film the interviews, and it’s going to take him forever to rig something up with the department’s equipment, now that his is out of service. It takes even longer because that woman sits in the room with him the whole time, the redheaded agent, and it keeps making Brodie all flustered. He can’t tell if it’s because she’s so pretty or because she’s so …  _ intense.  _ Maybe a little bit of both.

“If we could speak first with whomever had the most immediate contact with Mr. Modell?” The male agent calls out into the squadroom. Brodie hears Bayliss and Pembleton exchanging a few terse words, then a chair is pushed back, and Pembleton is scowling his way into the box. 

* * *

**CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #1   
DETECTIVE PEMBLETON, FRANK **

It’s disorienting for Brodie to see him on  _ that  _ side of the table.

“Neither of you smoke, do you?” Pembleton strikes a match and allows the flame to hover for a moment before bringing it to the end of his cigarette. Mulder shakes his head. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Scully purses her lips. “I’d ask for permission but - this is my box. I don’t see the need.”

He takes a long drag - long enough for the tip to flare orange, long enough for the silence to be noticeable. 

“He took one of my cigarettes. I  _ let him  _ have one of my cigarettes.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to give Robert Modell something they didn’t want to,” Mulder offers with a genial smile. Pembleton bristles at the display of warmth, a rookie mistake on Mulder’s part - there are no genuine emotions in the box. The man across the table is never your  _ friend.  _

“What I felt today - from that man - was evil.” He doesn’t look at either agent, instead watching the smoke curl in front of him. “Pure, simple evil. Didn’t even know if I believed in evil until today. I believed in the cruelty of man, yes, our inherent  _ base _ nature. That  _ smear _ of original sin. I’d like to believe that the existence of such a force proves the existence of a counter force, a positive force. All things being balanced and all that.”

“Newton’s third law,” Scully adds, shrugging. It’s the most Brodie has heard her say all afternoon. Making a quick glance at the small gold cross around her neck, a smile creeps across Pembleton’s face. It reminds Brodie of a cat.

“Are you a religious woman, Agent Scully?” 

“I was raised Catholic,” Scully responds, Mulder’s body language shifting as he recedes into his chair. Brodie has seen the tactic plenty of times - when a detective finds an _in,_ a matter of relation, the other will take a backseat. The transition was seamless - the only pair he’s seen work together with such graceful fluidity is Bayliss and Pembleton. “And you, Detective?”

“The very same. The Jesuits taught me to think. To study the texts with discipline and with logic. And logic dictates to me that if an evil like this exists, then the opposite must as well. Balance. I’ve struggled with my faith. We all do, in this work. I’m sure you’ve felt it, too. Is it not in the nature of Catholicism to leave and return, to err and ask forgiveness? They should install revolving doors on all the confessionals.”

He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray, grinding it down bitterly.

“I felt God once. I had turned my back and resolved to never return, to curse him for all that he doesn’t do. You can talk a big game all you want, but when the knife is at your throat - you’re a little more flexible, a little more willing to compromise. And today - I think God helped me to not pull that trigger … I don’t know. What if I had been in the box - what if Tim stepped out to grab that goddamn coffee instead? Would things have played out the same? I don’t know.”

Leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, he stares at the ceiling. His voice grows so low that Brodie wonders if it isn’t a prayer.

“I don’t know."   


* * *

“You know what I’m thinking, Mike?” Shrugging on his coat, Lewis speaks with an enthusiasm not shared by the rest of the room. The other detectives are strewn around like a little girl’s dolls, some seated in their chairs, others leaning against walls and desks. All of them are subdued.

Kellerman brings a hand to Lewis’s shoulder, flaunting their good mood. “What’s that?” 

“For once some shit went down, and it wasn’t us. We weren’t even in the  _ building  _ man.”

They laugh on the way out, the same way they came in, always carried on a cloud of good feeling.    
  
“You know, I thought about joining the bureau,” Russert yawns, extending her arms in an exaggerated stretch before making a show of standing to put on her coat. “They tried to recruit me, out of naval intelligence. It seemed so … I don’t know.  _ Consuming _ . I mean, did you  _ look _ at them? They looked miserable. They looked so tired.”

“Hey, uh. Maybe we should go out for drinks or something,” Bayliss ventures quietly, already assuming rejection. “If anybody wants to swing by the bar, or anything.”    
  
“My dearest Megan,” Joining her in the push to finally leave, Munch stands and starts to gather his things. “Have you considered the possibility that we look miserable too? I mean  _ look  _ at these eyes.” He peers at her from over the top of his glasses. He really does look pretty tired. “Besides, they at least like each other.”

Bayliss suggests the bar again, a little louder this time. No one responds.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, stopping to look at her partner. “How would you know that?”

It’s now Munch’s turn to look incredulous. “Were you not in the room with them? The way he just  _ gazes  _ at her. His eyes were practically little cartoon hearts.” 

They’re on the stairs by the time anyone acknowledges Bayliss’s request. Brodie is the first to accept the invitation, then Munch with a minimum of enthusiasm. Russert at least pretends to sound excited - she’s always been gentle around Bayliss. She hurries away to extend the offer to Howard, who’s already on the way to her car. Everyone disperses, resolute to meet-up later. Brodie pauses for a moment outside the door, fumbling with the tricky zipper of his jacket. 

“I knew you weren’t gonna shoot me.” He is suddenly and acutely aware of being alone with Pembleton and Bayliss and that he’s technically eavesdropping.

“How could you know that?” Pembleton bites, shielding a cigarette with his palm as he tries to light it. “How could you  _ possibly _ know that?”

The last thing Brodie hears is Bayliss’s response, echoing between footfalls on concrete.

“Because you’re a good man, Frank. You just  _ are _ .”   


* * *

****CASE FILE: MODELL, ROBERT PATRICK   
INTERVIEW TAPE #7  
CIVILIAN BRODIE, J.H

“It’s really wild - watching all of them come in here and talk to you.”

The second he sits in the chair, he understands. It’s instantaneous - the urge to  _ talk.  _ The absolute compulsion to tell the kind folks on the other side of the table everything they want to hear. He’s watched it happen to every detective that has sat down today - why did he doubt that it would happen to him?

“It makes me think of every case they work, how there’s just them working on it because it’s their jobs, like you are sitting there. But then there’s all of these other people on the other side of it - the victim and their family and the perp and  _ their  _ family and all of the people who saw it. All of the people who were there that day. It’s this big spiral outward - where does it end? Somebody throws a rock in a pond and there’s all these ripples coming out. Somebody fires a gun and there’s a ripple coming out of that too - touching everybody and fucking their lives up.”

He doesn’t know if what he said makes any sense to them. Hopefully, it does.

But what does it matter? It’s just gonna keep happening anyway.

“Just .. catch this guy, alright? Cause maybe nothing important happened today ... but I don’t think we’re always going to be this lucky.”


End file.
